Daughter of the Sea: The Beginning
by Lady Kale
Summary: AU/FemPercy. Atlanta River Jackson is just your average, angst ridden, monster slaying pre-teen with an uncanny ability to piss people off. Can River swallow her pride and stand behind the gods? Or will she choose to help Kronos rise? Decisions, decision.
1. Prologue: Hi, I

**A/N: This is a FEMALE Percy fic. And My first try at a PJO fanfiction in general**,** so any advice will help. This is the Prologue, written by 'Riv' after all of her adventures, so she is going to sound much more powerful and arrogant than she is in the rest of the story... ok she's arrogant all the way through it, but it's a child of Poseidon thing. She won't be powerful right away, in fact she will be quite weak at first (you'll see why) but will gradually get stronger through training herself and just being too stubborn to know when to stop. And, since she is a girl, her reactions to things and situations will be different and eventually change the story from what we know completely, but will start out fairly close to the cannon.**

**Personally, I find it hard to stay with a story full of OCs unless it is very very good. I am not that good, ergo Riv is the only OC and she doesn't really count. Also, as always, it will be a sarcastic, smart ass and humorous to go along with all the action. Just warning you.**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like a middle age man to you? (don't answer that) I own nothing.**

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Daughter of the Sea by Lady Kale

Beta-ed_:_ not as of yet

**_Prologue: Hi, I'm the Problem Child._**

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I would like to begin with the words of Wayne Thomas Batson, son of Hermes:

_Adventures are funny things. _

_They may creep out of holes, appear down a seldom trodden path, fall out of a tree or even arrive in an envelope; but they always start the same way._

_Adventures always begin with the unexpected._

My name is Atlanta River Jackson, born of Poseidon (or Neptune depending on who you affiliate yourself with), favorite of Artemis (though I am not one of her Hunters), blessed by Areas (I suspect it is only for his own pride) and friend of Athena (despite her hatred of my father). I have walked with the gods and the gods have chosen me.

Not to brag or anything, but I've done some pretty awesome things in my life. Then again, it's not like I ever had a choice but to do awesome things lest someone get seriously hurt. (or died)

My old friend Annabeth would tell me that it was my fault that people were in danger to begin with. She always berated me for my stupidity, not idolized me for the random shit I did in the heat of the moment. I think that's why she and I got along so well.

Clarisse La Rue, my right hand gal, would chalk everything up to fate. She would say that I was the child of prophecy; of course, I was going to do great things!

About this time, I would always laugh at her. I was never one to believe in fate (even though I have meet all three of them) and I went out of my way to screw with Apollo's _Poems of Death_ (I believe the proper term is prophecy).

Back then, laughing it off was easy; you could say natural. Even with the Great Prophecy hanging over my head and Kronos's goons lurking around every corner, life was still… life. We lived, we breathed, we laughed, we cried, we fought and did our darnedest to make sure that none of us died. I never took anything, especially the gods, too seriously.

If Thalia were here, she'd electrocute me into next week for talking of such matters lightly- for taking the gods too lightly. (She was the daughter of Zeus by the way, and the fourth member of my gang.)

Everyone had thought (myself included) that when she came back, she would be the one to save the gods and, by extension, the world. But no, not a year after her return, she joined my surrogate mother, Artemis, and became her lieutenant - once again leaving me, the problem child, with the fate of human kind.

Yea, no one was happy about that. (Myself included)

You see, there is no love lost between my father and I. Actually, one could say that there was no love there to begin with. In short, I hated him and he severely regretted claiming me as his own.

Like I said, I was the problem child that everyone wanted to zap off the face of the earth.

I still am to a degree.

But enough reminiscing (read: babbling) about non important matters. We can cover the specifics at a later time.

I am here to do one thing and one thing only: tell you my story.

I guess it's best summed up in the words of a daughter of Tyche:

_Everyone loves a hero._

_Everyone loves a legend._

_We love those few people who seem to defy all the rules (or order) we set for our world. It gives us hope that there really is a way to change our stars, to become something more then what we are. It keeps us dreaming long past the point where we should have woken up – sometimes it's all that keeps us going._

_The masses view 'heroes' as extraordinary, as something we can strive for, but realistically can never achieve. But are they really so different from you and I?_

_Were they born to that fate, the destiny? Was it all decided for them before they took their first steps? Their first breath?_

_If so, then doesn't that mean that we are all condemned to follow the path set before our feet? If the gods, or fate, or whatever, choose for us, then do we really have control? Are our lives just some story to amuse a higher power?_

_I do not think so. I refuse to think so, despite my origins. _

_I believe we do have some measure of control, a choice and a voice; one that makes us our own._

_Sure, none of us can help who we are born- prince or peasant, strong or sick. Thankfully, it is not who we are born that matters, it is who we become - or, more likely, who we make ourselves, that really counts._

_That is why we worship legends, because they made a choice to become something more. They did something crazy, or stupid, or impossible, just to prove that they could. Or maybe they did it because they had to._

_Does it matter why they did it? They did, and that is why they are remembered._

_The measure of my strength is mine own; the measure of my heart even more so. If I want to do great things, then I shall. If I want to soar into history, I will find a way. And none can tell me otherwise._

My name is Atlanta River Jackson, I bathed in the River Styx and I bear its curse, I have slain the Titan of Light - Hyperion, battled the Lord of Time and come out victorious, I have born the weight of the sky, sailed across the Sea of Monsters and navigated the Labyrinth of Daedalus. I have not only trained as a Greek, but as a Roman. I have fulfilled two Great Prophecies, and earned my place among the gods. I am the Champion of Olympus, the hero of heroes.

I am the fourteenth Olympian.

This is my story.

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**Review!**


	2. Whose Idea was this?

**A/N: This is my attempt to recreate Rick Riordan's masterpiece The Lightning Thief. Ergo, I own nothing.**

** Chapters will be re-posted as they are beta-ed.  
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Daughter of the Sea by Lady Kale

Beta-ed_:_ not as of yet

_**Chapter 1: Whose Idea was this?**_

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_August 18, 2004._

_Happy Birthday darling! _

_I hope this gift reaches you in time and that you are having a wonderful summer at camp._

_I get that diaries aren't 'cool' and that you are probably too busy to write in it often, but I thought it would be a brilliant idea for you to keep track of all your adventures. _

_Sweetie, I know that you and I have drifted apart in recent years, but believe me when I tell you that I only had your best interest at heart. You're still too young to fully understand it all, but everything I did, I did for you. _

_Stay safe. _

_I love you,_

_Mom._

_P.S. Do call soon darling. I can't wait to tell you about this amazing boarding school Gabe has found in Main. You'll absolutely adore it!_

That's right folks, you've guessed it. This is the diary I kept when I was younger.

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood, okay? I still don't want to be.

If you are reading this because you think you might be one of us, run like hell man. That's all the advice I can give you. Believe whatever half-assed lie your mommy or daddy decided to tell you and try to lead a normal life.

As lame and cliché as it sounds, once you know the truth it won't be long until _they_ know it as well. And when they know, you can bet your shiny coin collection that they will hunt you down, and kill you if they can.

Awww, did I scare you? Too bad. 

It's the truth and the truth hurts. 

Being a half-blood is not only dangerous (like DEFCON level one dangerous), it's scary. And, honestly, 99% of the time it will get you killed in some seriously painful, nasty and 'R' rated ways.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

To the rest of you, I'm not sure how you got hold of my diary. Maybe someday in the future, I'll decide to publish it; maybe you're just a thief with a whole lot of pain coming your way. (For the sake your own sanity and my survival, let's pretend I have an awesome imagination and am going to go far in the book writing world.)

Either way, welcome to my world.

My name is Atalanta River Jackson.

I go by River, or just plain Riv, if you don't mind.

I mean, really, have you seen my first name? Who the hell names their kid Atalanta? What am I? An ocean? (Yea… really funny mom, freakin' hilarious) Apparently, she is some chick in Greek mythology (who kicked some serious male ass) who got on the wrong side of Artemis and Aphrodite at the same time. (Or maybe she just got on the wrong side of one, I can't really recall.) Anyway, long story short, she ended up being turned into a bear for the rest of her life.

Dear God, I hope the horrible name is the only thing I get from her.

Of all my dreams and aspirations, being turned into a bear is _not_ very high on the list. Okay, screw that, it didn't even make the list.

Moving on to more important topics than Greek tragedies. (Let's face it, my life _is_ a Greek tragedy.)

My name is Riv (as we have already covered) and I am a demi-god, a half-blood if you will. (For those of you nit-wits out there, demi means half. So put that together with the 'god' part and you get…? Half-god! Very good! Who wants a cookie?) My father is Poseidon, god of the sea, earthquakes, storms and hurricanes; the creator of horses and all around good guy. (Not)

Oh, you think that's cool do you?

May I ask what the hell you are smoking?

It's not cool in any way shape or form.

Trust me, I had to learn it the hard way.

()()()

I'm Riv Jackson. Just your normal, average, monster slaying preteen with a unique gift for pissing off people in high places.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit.

I'm River and I am thirteen years old. Until a few months ago, I attended Adirondack Leadership Expeditions, a wilderness school (as opposed to boot camp) for troubled teens in upstate New York.

Am I a troubled teen?

Hells to the yea.

My record (six schools in seven years) should be enough evidence for you, but I'll give you an example just in case.

I could start anywhere in my short (but considerably miserable) life, but I'm going to guess that you would like to hear about my Gettysburg adventure.

When I was in fourth grade, my school took a field trip to the Gettysburg Battlefield. (not that smartest idea if you ask me)

At the time, I was only mildly disturbed that no one seemed to mind that we had two very different tour guilds telling us very different things. But hey, I was still young and my world had yet to go topsy-turvy. (read: I gained a much unwanted step-father) So I shook it off and payed attention to the nice lady who had decided to grace me with her knowledge. (Which was so much more interesting then the balding old guy who talked with a lisp.)

In retrospect, even as a fourth grader, I should have found it odd that _I_ was the one paying attention to begin with. Then again, things are always clearer looking back; it's one of the things that make life annoying. (The other being when your roommate leaves _their_ cloths all over _your_ bed)

She was pretty (as I've already said) and blond, with a voice like honey. She made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but I liked listening to her all the same.

She described how the Roman phalanxes held out against Greek stratagem, even when numbers became an issue. How a hot headed son of Areas was the reason the confederates charged the hill in the first place – how if he hadn't the south might have won. She told me how the children of Athena and Hephaestus raced those of Vulcan and Minerva to create the _Monitor_ and the _Merrimack_.

On and on she went, confusing the hell out of me. But it was different from anything I had heard before, so I listened.

What do Romans have to do with Greeks you ask? Or them with the Civil War?

I didn't have a clue.

Still don't have a clue actually.

I just wrote it off as one of those weird things that always seems to happen to me.

Here's why:

All my life I had seen things that no one else could see. (forget explain) Men with one, extremely large eye taking up the majority of their faces; girls who _sat _under a lake or a stream with no intentions of servicing for air; lions who breathed fire …. Just to name a few.

The doctors said it was part of ADHD, that my brain missed things and tried to fill in the gaps.

Does seeing extra, and extremely weird people seem like missing things to you? Forget what the doctors say, I _know_ I'm not creative enough to dream up a man with a horse's body and a fish's tail with lobster claws coming out of his head. (Who the hell is that original to begin with?)

Yea, I thought (read: think) it was (read: is) a load of bs too.

Getting back to my point, I have no idea why this lady didn't send up red flags, but she didn't. Even she _really_ should have.

Example(s) being: 1) She smelled like a petting zoo. (not the clean ones either) 2) Either she was wearing a really god awful, furry, thigh-high boot; or her right leg was implanted from a goat. 3) Her left leg was incased in a metallic brace that would have made it impossible to sneak up on anything.

Sadly, it wasn't until she pulled me aside that I noticed any of this. Even sadder, it didn't deter me from jumping all over the chance from seeing a few of the old cannons. (she offered to take me to a restricted access section)

Yes, I know. It's a miracle I wasn't abducted by someone when I was a child.

I blame it on bad parenting.

"You, child, are going to be a strong one." She told me as we walked. "Yes, even now, I can feel your power ebbing. Someone must have broken their oath to sire you. Pity you are not male," she dragged a single nail down my cheek, cutting it slightly. "You would have been delectable."

_Now_ the warning bells went off in my head. Still, how many times do you hear about a female pedophile? So I just made a beeline toward a cannon.

I could hear here coming up behind me. "Yes, the spawn of Hephaestus really out did themselves on this one. It's fully operational, even after all this time."

"Really?" I asked wide-eyed.

She nodded, laying her palm on the cannon's barrel. "Indeed." The metal began to glow red under her touch. "Well, see you soon half-blood. I'm sure I will be hearing great things about you in the years to come."

She was gone, just like that - there was no defining _crack,_ no gust of wind, no blinding light or anything you hear about in stories or movies.

She was simply, _gone_.

I spun on my heal, looking everywhere for the strange woman. High, low, under some cannons… even making my way back to the group thinking she had joined them.

They were waiting for me outside the visitors center, all panicked.

After about a thousand and one questions about where I had run off to and why I didn't tell anyone, we headed back toward the buses.

Meanwhile, the cannon had still been heating up from the woman's touch till it glowed white hot.

With an ear-splitting _boom_, it went off.

Bye-bye school bus.

I guess it was a good thing we played a thousand and one questions after all.

Eh, go figure.

()()()

Ah, technology.

You see, there is this nifty little device called a security camera.

People position it in evident, hidden and sometimes, even in awkward places so they can live out their lifelong dream of becoming a professional stalker. Wait… my bad. Those are paparazzi.

Oh, you get my point.

Anyway, according to the camera, I had been by myself around those cannons. And a fourth grade kid is obviously inventive enough to set off a cannon that hadn't been used in about 100 years. Hey, that kid may even be a terrorist! Lets detain her!

No one believed me when I tried to explain what had really happened.

No one believed me when I told them about the strange tour guide with the blond hair, goat's leg and honey voice.

No one took me seriously when I tried to repeat what she had told me about the Greeks and the Romans.

Not even my mom. (yes, they called my mother down from New York City because I, a 10 year old kid, was a national threat to security and old cannons everywhere)

Okay, that's a lie. My mom did believe me, or at least listened to what I had to say.

I think it kind of freaked her out too.

Not three months later, she married one Gabe Ugliano, the oiliest, slimiest, rankest creep within ten blocks. But he was rich, until he blew it all playing poker about two years later, and he treated her alright.

It was me he had a problem with.

Gabe doesn't like me.

I don't like Gabe either.

It's a hate, hate and a little more hate relationship.

Remember what I said about my gift for pissing off people with power? Gabe is the reason I'm just so incredibly awesome at it.

When I has expelled from my fifth school in as many years (In a series of unreal and insane events that were totally _not_ my fault, my class went swimming with the sharks at sea world) he decided that Yancy Academy was the place for me.

Yancy Academy is a boarding school in upstate New York and just about as expensive as they come. I think the only reason he paid the tuition was because I was so far away, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. And I liked it there, I really did.

As much as anyone with dyslexia and ADHA can like school anyway.

()()()

I sat toward the front of the eyesore that people call a school bus, attempting to ignore Nancy Bobofit's war on some scrawny punk named Grover.

It wasn't easy, let me tell you. Mostly because Grover was the only person who ever tried to socialize with me on a regular basis.

If you don't believe me, take a look at the empty seat to my right.

Yes, I am sitting alone on the bus (cougheyesorecoughcough) while other kids squished three and four to a seat.

I didn't think I was that scary… eesh.

Oh well, solitude suited me. I didn't like annoying people (read: Nancy Bobofit) or the mass crowds of equally annoying people that tended to congregate around them. (would someone like to explain the mechanics of that to me?)

I had no desire to hang with jocks and their lack of personal hygiene; I couldn't stand the girls and their obsession over said jocks with no personal hygiene.

And that pretty much summed up the people at my school… or any school for that matter.

I should probably also mention that I didn't talk a lot; I don't talk a lot. (not to morons anyway) It's just… not my style. Anyway, the point of me telling you that was to make it clear that the people (read: idiots) of my school (both students and teachers alike) thought it was the reason behind my attending Yancy Academy. So everyone (aside from Grover and Mr. Brunner (my not-so-terrible Latin Teacher)) had given up on me as a lost cause.

In clarification of that long and somewhat pointless spiel, they didn't bother me and I did not bother them. It was a win, win!

Not.

Moving right along then.

The reason I was on a bus full of delinquent children in the middle of Manhattan (whose brilliant idea was that?) was to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art, more specifically, the Greek and Roman display. This is where Mr. Brunner comes in.

Even though he is technically my Latin teacher, he teaches so much more. Actually, he mostly teaches us Greek. Not the language mind, no Mr. Brunner teaches us the mythology.

And I loved it.

Alright, I'll be honest with you guys, despite my dyslexia and ADHD, I'm a little bit of a nerd.

Well, only when it comes to Mr. Brunner's class, and only because he will not accept anything but the highest grade from me. Which tends to make my life difficult at times.

Would one of you lovely people out there please tell me how my dyslexic brain is supposed to discern the difference between Polydictes and Polydeuces? And do not even get me started on Charon and Chiron.

I swear, someone somewhere is laughing at my expense.

I am proud to report that after many late nights, sugar highs, books thrown across the room and displays of teacher's pet-ness, I, Atlanta River Jackson, have an 'A' in Latin class.

I think it's the first 'A' I have ever gotten.

"Hey… uh River?" I looked to my right to see Grover swaying with the motion of the bus, a few pieces of peanut butter and ketchup sandwich stuck in his curly brown hair. "Can I sit with you?"

I pretended to hesitate for a second, knowing that he knew I was only kidding, before I timidly nodded.

"Thanks!" He slid into the seat next to me.

The next five minutes were spent picking the bits of sandwich out of his hair in silence.

Finally, Grover asked the one question I had been waiting for. "The rumors are just that aren't they?" He looked at me with his big brown eyes. I think I might have felt a surge of sadness. Or maybe that was vertigo. (our bus driver wasn't known to be the safest one around.) "You're not leaving Yancy are you?"

I gave him a sad smile and nodded.

"B-But you can't leave!" He stammered. "Who else am I going to have lunch with?"

Gee Grover, thanks for your concern.

But I couldn't be to mad at him. I was his only friend (I use the term lightly) at this prison… er… school for the socially inept. When I left, he would have no one.

Even then, I couldn't bring myself to pity him.

Apparently, not begging Smelly Gabe to transfer schools is all it took for him to transfer me. (Wish I had known that one earlier.) Or maybe it was the fact that I was still close enough to make it home for my four day spring break about a month back.

Either way, come Monday I am being transferred (read: shipped) to Adirondack Leadership Expeditions… even farther up state then Yancy. (Don't let the title or the web page fool you, it's a boot camp, not a school.)

According to the lovely procure my mom was thoughtful enough to mail me (along with orders to pack my things and send it home ahead of me) Adirondack Leadership Expeditions is all about helping kids work through their problems in productive ways. They took us on long hikes up and down the Adirondacks, taught us to make a camp and to break it down in record time. Tracking, swimming, mapping and fire building were legit courses along with math, English and history. We would spend days and days out doors at a time.

Like I said, boot camp.

Today was my last day with the Yancy crew. Since the museum is in Manhattan, Gabe thinks I can just catch a bus back to the apartment. Tomorrow, I will take another bus to boot camp.

I fought back a scowl.

I have no luck. It's not good; it's not bad; it's just not there.

"Where is he sending you?" Grover asked. He knew full well the loving relationship between Gabe and I (I made no attempt to hide it); there was no need for him to clarify who 'He' was.

"Adirondack Leadership Expeditions." I whispered almost inaudibly. I know he heard me though, he always heard me.

He frowned, "That sounds… intense."

I laughed humorously. "You could say that."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Just did." The side of my mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. "But I suppose you want to ask another one."

"Your sense of humor escapes me," he said with another frown.

"I fail to see how that's my problem," I shot back.

Grover shook his head at me, his curls bouncing up and down. "Why now? Why is he moving you now? Term ends in like a month."

Ah, the question of the hour.

"The workings of Gabe's brain is a anonymity to the world."

This time he smiled. "Oh, so he has a brain? Well, that's one mystery solved."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Hard.

"Too true," I managed between gasps.

"When are you going home?" He asked when I calmed down. "I assume you are going home for a little while?"

I nodded, glancing at his watch. "In about six hours. I'm suppose to take a bus from the museum to One-Hundred-and-Fourth and Sixth, then walk the rest of the way. That's the closeted station according to him."

"You don't believe him do you?" He asked as the bus rumbled to a stop outside the museum.

Kids started shuffling passed us, following wheel-chair bound Mr. Brunner and the second bane of my existence, Mrs. Dodds. Grover stood, standing back to let me out first.

"Not 'no'," I answered. "Hell no."

I never could understand why it took so long to get off the bus sometimes. It's not rocket science people! Walk in a straight line, turn right, go down the steps and out the door. Eesh.

"What group are you in?" Grover stepped out after me.

I grimaced. "Mrs. Dodds."

He winced. "Oh, I don't envy you that one."

"You have Mr. Brunner?" I asked. "Trade me?"

"Not 'no'," he mimicked me. "Hell no."

"Grover-!" I started to protest, but he was already walking away toward his chaperone.

"See ya later Riv!" He called back.

Swearing under my breath, I reluctantly made my way to the demon from hell known as my pre-algebra teacher.

Mrs. Dodds was this old, stooped grandmother like figure from Georgia. (If your grandmother wears a leather jacket that is) And she made it her mission to make my life agony.

As I dragged my feet, I could feel her beetle black eyes boring into my head.

I wonder if she requested me, I thought to myself. Sounds like something she would do. Probably going to see how many detentions she can land me with before three.

"Ms. Jackson!" I winced at the sickenly sweet accent. "Do hurry along now."

Somehow, I knew if today wasn't my last day I'd be erasing answers from old math books after school for the rest of term.

I didn't bother trying to hide my disgust as I met her eye. (I liked her about as much as I liked Gabe, and that's saying something.) "Yes, Ms. Dodds," my voice lost in the babbling of the students around me.

I know she couldn't hear me. There was no possible way she could have heard me.

But a knowing smile stretched over her thin lips, showing crooked, yellowing teeth. "Come along then dear." She marched away, expecting me to follow.

Oh, hell, I thought. What did I do this time?

Come to find out, I hadn't done anything.

Yet.

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**Review!**


	3. Battle of the Senses

**A/N: Not as long as the last one.. sorry :(**

**I own nothing... just in case y'all didn't get the memo**

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Daughter of the Sea by Lady Kale

Beta-ed_:_ not as of yet

_**Chapter 2: Battle of the Senses**_

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_Oh, hell, I thought. What did I do this time?_

_Come to find out, I hadn't done anything._

_Yet._

It really shouldn't have been a surprise to me. Given my history with field trips, it shouldn't have even startled me. But just because it shouldn't does not mean it didn't.

And it didn't startle me.

It scared the hell out of me.

()()()

I had barely made it inside the museum when Mr. Brunner started the tour.

I suppose if I had to look on the bright side of things, I could say thank god it wasn't Mrs. Dodds. But I'm not exactly the optimistic type. I tend to dwell more on the negative. And the negative was that said Algebra Teacher from Hell was shadowing me through the exhibits.

Brunner rode in his little electric wheel chair at the front of the column of grouchy students, cheerfully explaining this and that to anyone who would listen.

As I've said before, Mr. Brunner is cool. But he is way too happy at nine in the morning.

It should be a crime.

"Ms. Jackson?" My head snapped up to meet the gentle gaze of the before mentioned happy go lucky teacher.

A few of the kids around me sniggered quietly and some not so quietly.

I got the strangest feeling that I was missing something.

"Stele," someone hissed from my right, trying (but failing) to be helpful. The laughter grew louder as the voice hissed again, "He asked about the stele."

The what now?

Please don't tell me I'm being accused of being a thief too. I wouldn't want to rain on Nancy's parade. Though, to be fair, a little rain might help with the smell.

"Ms. Jackson," my wheel chair bound teacher looked disappointed in me. "Try to pay attention." I nodded. "This," he pointed to a column topped with a sphinx. "Is a stele, a grave marker. I believe the girl was around your age."

Well that's depressing.

"And over here," he wheeled slightly to the right. "Can anyone tell me who this is supposed to be?"

I squinted at the black depiction on the orange pot. If I had to guess, I'd say it was a fat guy eating people… his children?

Kronos perhaps?

"Kronos, King of the Titans." Nancy Bobofit piped up.

Mr. Brunner nodded. "Yes, indeed. What can you tell us about him?"

"He uh…" she twirled a stringy piece of hair around her finger tips. "Ate his kids right?"

Wow, her intelligence astounds me.

A shadow of… something flickered across my wheel chair bond teacher's face. "Can you name them?"

Judging by the blank look on her face, I would say that is a no.

"Anyone?" he asked the class at large.

"Zeus, right?" Someone behind me shouted.

Another voice added, "And Hades and Poseidon."

"Very good." Mr. Brunner nodded his scraggly head. "Zeus, Lord of the sky and king of the gods, is the youngest of the six children and the one who over powered ou… his father. Poseidon is the god of the seas and Hades the underworld."

"Who would choose that?" Nacy was running her mouth again. "I mean, really, who wants to spend all their time with dead people?"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and tell bobo-brains that they were only myths. Well… ok I did roll my eyes at her, but I didn't speak up.

Grover, standing across the semi circle of students from me, snorted. "He didn't choose anything. Hades was tricked by his brothers."

My eyes narrowed slightly.

Since when was he interested in mythology?

"Correct Grover. Hades was always bitter about being forced away from Olympus and the other gods, as such he took any and every opportunity to overthrow his brother. But that is in the next chapter of our books." Our scraggly headed teacher started wheeling toward another exhibit. "Someone name the other three elder gods."

Demeter, Hera and Hestia; my brain automatically supplied.

The rest of the class took a little longer in getting there, but I made to attempt to help them along.

The day dragged on and on and on; filled with questions about the twelve Olympians and their domains of power.

I think I officially zoned out about the time he was talking about the twins, Artemis and Apollo. But I couldn't say for sure, I'd been zoning since Aphrodite.

Eventually, lunch time rolled around.

The only thing that stopped me from bolting to the doors was Grover's agonizingly slow pace.

"So what's with the two groups of people if we're all just following Mr. Brunner around?" He asked, trying to relieve the tension.

I lifted one shoulder in the universal sign of I-Don't-Know-And-I-Don't-Care and changed the subject, "Where are we getting lunch?"

"Well, there's always the museum store." He supplied, looking a little forlorn as I walked right past it. "That you just passed."

"Does it look like I have five dollars to spend on a pretzel and a juice box?" I hated how expensive food was at places like this. "Because I want to know if my new phone plan is giving off the 'I now feel the need to always carry a toy dog with me because I'm richer' vibe."

"But you don't have a phone…"

"Exactly." I said over my shoulder, maneuvering around the unreasonably heavy front doors. "And I have twenty bucks to get me fed and back to One-Hundred-and-Fourth street. Ergo, there better be a hotdog vender within the next block or I'm going hungry."

"Hey! Wait! Argh!" I paused on the steps outside, watching him fight his way out of the doors like I had. "If this is about money then-"

"I don't do charity Grover." I cut him off, then started to wonder why I was talking to him so much. I wrote it off as it was the last time I'd ever have to put up with him, so I naturally had more patients than usual. With another shrug (this one to myself) I started walking again, leaving him spluttering.

"It's not charity!"

"Then what is it?" I had reached the bottom of the steps. "A hand out? I'm leaving in like three hours Grover. I'll never be able to pay you back." I watched him limp his way toward me. "Besides, there's something about expensive food that makes it taste… funny."

He threw back his head and let out a bleating laugh that sounded more like a goat then anything. Or maybe a donkey. "Admit it Riv!"

"Admit what?" I flinched slightly as his arm wrapped around my shoulders. "That you're a jack ass?"

"Blaa-ha-ha! I meant that you're cheap!"

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Did you just bleat at me?" He shook his head frantically. "You did, didn't you?"

"No!"

"Then what the hell was that?" I smirked, lengthening my stride to catch up with him. "And I'm not cheap! I prefer the term thrifty."

I didn't need to see his face to know he was scowling at me and had ignored my comment. "That was my reaction to you calling me a jack-ass. Which, while we are on that topic, how am I a jack ass?"

"One word," I held up my finger. "Twilight."

His face paled as I started laughing again. "It wasn't my fault!" He used the same old argument. "She sat in my seat!"

"She was like ten!"

"So? Is that any excuse to steal a person's seat?"

I just shook my head. Old argument, beaten path, talking in circles and all that; this would get us nowhere. And I wanted my hot dog. "I was referring to the fact that you drug me to see that movie in the first place."

"But you liked the books."

I nodded, turning the corner. "Yea I did. But that was before I met the fan club. Then my survival instincts kicked in."

"Non-conforming conformist," he accused. When I gave him a weird look he went on to explain, "You are conforming to your chosen circles of non-conformers… who fight the power and all that."

"Uh… no. The fan club just scared me." I ignored his disbelieving look. "How come when you don't want a hot dog, the venders are everywhere? But when you actually want one, they are nowhere to be found!"

"It's a conspiracy." I punched him in the arm. "Okay, okay! I surrender!" He held up his hands. "Don't shoot me. How about we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?"

"If we don't find your hotdog guy, you let me pay for your ridiculously expensive museum food."

"No."

"Aww," he whined. "Why not?"

In answer, I just pointed to the kiosk ahead of us.

"Oh."

()()()()

Somewhere, deep within the recesses of my mind, or perhaps even my soul, a sixth sense was stirring. I've felt it growing since Christmas, when all the weird weather started.

And, truth to tell, I only knew it was there because it was clashing with my common sense and my sense of logic. It was as if my gut was telling me one thing, my heart was telling me another and my head was saying something completely different.

In short, it was confusing as hell and often left me in the state that I currently found myself in: limbo.

It's not that I couldn't move, more like I didn't feel the need to. Like trying to sort out the strange emotions roaring through me took precedent over everything else. Or maybe my system was so overloaded with these new feelings that it just shut down.

Yea, it was probably the last one.

Anyway, I was sitting on the steps of the museum watching as dark clouds blew in over my beloved city. I could feel the pressure in the air, a sort of tenseness that set everyone on edge.

Something big was about to happen, that is what my gut was telling me.

My heart told me that I was about to be caught up in a very dangerous situation.

Logic (my head) suggested that it was all because I was going to see Gabe in a few short hours.

The distinct sound of a bus stopping to let off its passengers drew my gaze from the sky to the street. Suddenly, I found myself able to move.

Not only that, but my instincts screamed at me to get on and get away.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the morbid thought. There was no way in hell I was running _to _Gabe's house. From Gabe's house? I ran away from Gabe's house at least every other day. But not to, never to that hellhole.

And yet the feeling that hell (home) was safer then what lay behind me persisted.

Is it against some law for my life to make sense or something?

Sadly, I was very familiar with the sensation –where instinct and common sense don't quite meet up on the same page. It was unnerving to say the least.

"Riv?" I jumped at the sound of Grover's voice. He was standing at the top of the steps, the rest of our class filing past him through the doors. "Are you coming?"

I blinked once, twice, before I finally understood he was gesturing toward the doors.

Looking back toward the bus, where every cell in my body was blaring at me to run, I saw that it was already pulling away from the curve. My eyes continued to follow it until it disappeared around the corner, in the direction of my Gabe's apartment.

And I was moving.

I leapt off the steps, ignoring Grover's cry of "River!", and sprinted after the bus like it was my lifeline. Dodging people, animals and hotdog venders alike, panic settled over my shoulder like a blanket.

I moved faster, despite the obstacles and the ludicrousness of my flight. I had to catch that bus, whatever it took.

Why that particular bus? I had (read: have) no idea. Any other bus would have gotten me the same place, but still I ran after this one.

My heart felt like it would beat its way out of my chest as I chased that damn automobile through the streets of New York City. Blood roared in my ears, blocking out the profanities thrown my way and the horns honking in my wake. Breathing became a struggle and I was forced to gasp like a fish out of water, trying to get the oxygen I so desperately needed. But my legs didn't stop moving, didn't slow their pace.

Four blocks later, I caught up with the bus right as it was starting to close its doors.

I think I gave a few people a heart attack when I exploded in, skidding to a halt halfway down the aisle. I know I got plenty of weird looks.

I didn't care. All I wanted was oxygen.

And water. Lots and lots of water.

I suppose I wouldn't mind a seat either.

()()()()()

I stepped off the bus, just up the street from hell (read: my step father's apartment) and just stood there for a second. I didn't want to go forward and I couldn't go back.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

After a few more minutes of putting off the inevitable (I tend to do that a lot), I finally figured I might as well get it over with.

"Nearest stop my ass," I wheezed, still not quite breathing normally, as I approached the building. This was the last place I wanted to be.

It looked the same as it had the last time I was here. Beer cans still lined the counter and over flowed the trash. The air was hazy from all the cigar smoke and the lights were either flickering or burnt out entirely. Laundry was strewn across the living room and the desk in the corner was piled high with papers, letters and bills.

It's a wonder that rickety old thing hasn't collapsed from the pressure yet.

A glance at the wall clock told me I had half an hour before Gabe was home and an hour after that before my mother got off work.

Lucky me.

Picking my way across the room and into the hall took some time and the hall was an obstacle course in itself. Eventually though, I reached my room. What was my room.

I couldn't help the melancholy smile that graced my lips at the sight of the old posters on the walls. Lisa Frank's colorful animals, Disney characters and even a Spice Girls tour poster were so characteristic of seven year old me. I kind of missed those days, in a strange way. And, in a totally normal way, I didn't miss them at all.

My bed was pushed back in the far corner, against the window. Once purple, the comforter was now stained dark in some patches and bleached white in others. I really don't want to know what happened to it.

The rest of my room had been invaded with Gabe's junk. (read: crap)

His old work boots rested on the window seat. Construction manuals, old text books, and grimy folders had taken over my bookshelf. Not that I really had anything up there, but I was still a little miffed, knowing he had thrown them all away.

Broken bikes, exercise equipment and computers took up the rest of the floor space.

Brilliant.

And I know if I looked in the closet, I would find boxes of porno magazines under all my old cloths.

Have I mentioned I hate this place?

"What are you doing in my office?" A gravelly voice sounded from the hall.

Barley concealing an 'eep' of fright, I tiled around, coming face to face with the devil himself. My stepfather, Gabe.

He was short and pudgy, with greasy black hair that was slicked back over his bald spot.

He reeked of moldy garlic pizza wrapped up in gym shorts and washed down with old beer. It was enough to make me gag an good days.

Today was not a good day.

He was dripping sweat and sludge and obviously didn't bother to bathe this week.

How the hell did I not smell him coming?

"Your office?" I finally forced out, attempting not to breath. This couldn't be good for my health.

Beetle black eyes glittered at me from under a protruding forehead. "Yes."

"This is my room!" I ignored the yellowing teeth in his lopsided grin. "Find another place to put your crap fatass!"

The grin faded. "Listen here you little wretch!" Spit flew out of his mouth, accompanying his sharp words. "Your mother and I are letting you stay with us out of the goodness of our hearts. Show some respect."

Furry overtook the fear I had been feeling when he first arrived. How I hated this man. "I'm under 18! It's the law dumbass! Unless you want the government to get involved, you show _me_ some respect."

His hand flashed out before I could blink and I found myself skittering back.

It was always like this. I'd say something to piss him off, and he would try to strike me.

I never bothered to tell anyone because nine times out of ten, he would miss, or I'd back up in time. If his fist ever did connect though, I'd be walking around with a black eye or a split lip for a week. Thankfully, he was almost always drunk so it wasn't too much of a challenge to get out of the way.

"I pay good money for you to go to school," he seethed. "I'm an honest man. (And I'm a leprechaun-a-sauras) I work hard (bahaha!) and take care of my family.(now you're just being delusional Gabe)" He advanced. "You, you little piece of filth. You are not my family. I am under no obligation to do _anything_ for you."

"Wow Gabe," I backed up a step. "You used a word with more than three syllables! You mommy must be so proud. Oh wait! She abandoned you!"

Yea, I know it was a lame dig. But it didn't stop him from roaring and throwing his whale like body at me.

It was kind of pathetic how easy it was to dodge him and bolt out of the room.

I won't repeat what Gabe called after me as I made my escape from the house. But, needless to say, it was enough to stop me in my tracks and bring tears to my eyes.

The past has a nasty way of sneaking up on you. Just when you think you've lost it and can finally move on, it rears its nasty head and slaps you in the face. It sends you off balance, struggling to stay afloat, to keep the ground you have gained. But in the end, it always knocks you back down, reopens the wound. And any other analogy you can come up with.

I wasn't paying attention this time. This time I didn't manage to dodge the fist that sent me crashing into the overloaded desk.

I guess it couldn't handle my weight along with all the papers, because it snapped like a twig.

Papers and wood fragments were everywhere.

Gabe was yelling again.

And all I could think was _owww. _

My face hurt.

My back hurt.

My head hurt.

My chest hurt.

Oww indeed.

_RUN!_ Within an instant, that single thought took ever my entire being.

And boy did I run.

Rolling over, I jumped to my feet and bolted to the window in the kitchen, out the fire escape and down to the streets.

Within minutes, I was out of Gabe's reach.

My feet pounded against the pavement as, for the second time that day, I found myself pushing my body to its limits. They had a mind of their own (my legs), picking the course they traveled and picking the pace they traveled at, just like the last time.

It was not until much later that I found myself able to stop.

()()()()()

This better not become a common occurrence.I thought to myself as I sipped water on a bench in central park. I am not a fan of my body taking over itself.

I sighed, sitting back against the seat and thinking about what had just happened.

It had been the same feeling that had (literally) overtaken me at the museum, the need to get away - to run. I apparently had no say in the matter.

It was dusk, and I knew I should at least be heading toward a safer part of the city. But I couldn't seem to tear my gaze away from the clouds.

Guess who was stuck in limbo again?

They (the clouds) were darker then I had ever seen before, ominous and foreboding. It was like they were predicting that something was about to go very very wrong. And it was going to happen very very soon.

That feeling of unease settled over me again.

"This is going to end badly, isn't it?" I whispered to no one in particular.

If only I knew how right I was.

* * *

**Yay, first real deviation from the canon!**

**Review!**


	4. My pet Eidolon

**Yea, so this should not have taken as long as it did. But in my defense, I blame college - its trying to kill me, I swear!**

**If I start looking like a middle-age best selling author, let me know. Because as far as I know I'm a broke teen. (20 is still a teenager damnit!)**

* * *

Daughter of the Sea: By Lady Kale

Beta-ed:_ still working on that_

**Chapter 3: My pet Eidolon**

* * *

_The actions one takes are answered by consequences waiting at their conclusion. There are no exceptions. – Code Geass_

Coming back to consciousness was like trying to pull myself up Mount Etna hand over hand - while it was erupting mind you. It was long, slow and arduous. Every now and then I seemed to slip and loose whatever foothold I possessed. Weird images passed through my weird – almost dream like state.

In short, everything sucked.

My body was aching something fierce. Every muscle, tendon and ligament was burning like the campfires my mother and I use to have at Montauk. It was more than enough to bring tears to my eyes. Both the memories and the pain, mind you.

Don't even get me started on my head, which felt like the Little Drummer Boy was beating a coded message upon the inside of my skull. Each single traumatizing beat of my worn heart sent a fresh bout agony coursing through my temples. This made it hard to think through the haze, harder still to climb back into consciousness.

Yea, this was not my idea of fun. So, when can I retire again?

The sad thing was that all of this paled in comparison to the line of liquid flame that scorched is way down my right leg or smoldered along my shoulders and neck. It was a constant, unbearable pain. Never ending, never abating, never ceasing; but it wasn't enough to drag me back into the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

I really hate my luck, or lack thereof, sometimes. Alright, I hate it all the time but right now I felt like brooding.

Try as I might, I couldn't remember what had landed me in this position. The closest I could get was me sneaking back into the apartment after spending the night on the roof.

I had crept into the bathroom in an attempt to get dry and warm. The towels had been moldy and the faucets looked like they had rusted straight through. So I didn't get dry, or warm for that matter. I just hopped around in the I-am-freezing-to-death-and-have-no-other-way-to-ge t-warm dance.

My bag was by the door where I left it. A bus ticket was tucked into the side pouch, along with a box of cold medicine.

The sun was only just starting to rise when I left my fake-parents home and headed toward the bus stop. My mother was in the kitchen sipping from a cup of what was probably coffee. No words were spoken. Neither of us said goodbye. We only shared a single look - one's eyes filled with pity the other's with spite.

That was it. That was all I could remember.

Did that mean I was at the Adirondack Leadership Expeditions? Had the bus crashed?

As these thoughts swirled around in my already aching head, I stared at the wood grained ceiling above me. It was plain, unadorned and extremely boring.

Everything smelled strongly of antiseptic and, unless I was mistaken, a hint of strawberry.

It was official, I have no freakin' idea where I am.

Just before I could go mad with pain/boredom, I heard the sharp squeal of hinges as the door to my room swung open.

Due to my heavily bandaged condition, I couldn't see who it was, but from their footsteps I could guess that there was three of them. I think. Unless I was actually hearing _hooves_ clatter against the wood floor. Then maybe I was already insane, or there was a horse in the room. I'm guessing I've gone insane.

"Now Annabeth," a deep, strangely familiar voice was saying. "Don't get your hopes up. She may not be-"

"But she _has _to be." Another, younger and decidedly feminine voice cut the other off. "You went to Yancy yourself to oversee her protection. That means she's powerful."

There was a clatter - seriously, was that hooves or what? - and a sigh. "Child, I fear you are mistaking Atlanta for Thalia. They are quite - Dear heavens!" An impossibly tall figure had just come into my line of sight. What is more, he noticed I was awake.

He continued to speak, but his voice had become nothing more than white noise in my ears. My eyes were no longer seeing him nor the blonde haired child who accompanied him. In their place stood Mrs. Dodds, the Algebra teacher that came straight out of the depths of hell.

In a flash all of my memories colored the blackness inside my head. I recalled everything.

Turns out, I had made it to Adirondack Leadership Expeditions, and I had hated it with a passion. They had treated me as the worst kind of delinquent. I might as well have been enrolled in military school, at least then the punishments would have been somewhat fair.

While others would go on camping trips into the woods, I stayed at the central lodge - under the supervision of the Sergeant at all times.

I really wish I was kidding.

And yes, it went exactly how you are imagining it. The only thing missing was the weapons training.

I guess it's a good thing that I'm about as stubborn as they come - otherwise I wouldn't have stood a chance. The days had been long and grueling, filled with pointless and menial tasks to teach me 'discipline.' Time had been lost in a haze of blisters and cramped muscles. Before I knew it, three months had passed and visitors were admitted into the camp.

Imagine my surprise when my dear great aunt came to see me.

The catch is, I don't have a great aunt. My mother had lost contact with her family at a young age - I'm pretty sure both of her folks were only children anyway - when my grandparents died in a plane crash.

I had never known my father and learned to stop asking about him very quickly. Whenever I tried, my mother would get a faraway look in her eyes and I just knew she had left me behind, preferring the days of her past instead.

That day the Sergeant had tugged me into the lobby by the collar of my shirt - something I had grown use to - we had passed dozens of mothers, crying and hugging their children. Mine was not among them - not that I bothered to look for her or anything. That is beside the point.

Sergeant frog marched me passed the visitors milling about and into a room off to the side. I was expecting to see one of his lackeys ready to escort me about another grueling day. At the very least I thought that Peggy, the receptionist, was going to assign me tedious paperwork (it had happened before). But, as I've said once and will probably saw many times again, I have absolutely _no_ luck.

In the center of the room stood an old woman draped in a leather jacket, face set with a familiar glower. I was shoved in roughly, the Sergeant stomping in behind me. When door swung shut with an ominous _click_ I recognized her.

My heart stopped cold and words flew out of my mouth without my consent. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"What was that shortstop?" A voice blared in my ear as Sarge's meaty hand shook my collar. "Is that how you address your great aunt? In my establishment, we respect our elders!"

It took a moment for words to form in my mouth after his attempt at scrambling my brain. "Great aunt? What the hell are you talking about? Ack!" I was shaken sharply again.

Across the room, Mrs. Dodds flashed me a feral grin. "Hello honey." She greeted me. "My, my, my you look more and more like your father every day. Then again, all you cousins have always looked alike." Her southern accent grated against my ears as I continued to protest: "I don't even have an aunt, let alone a great aunt!" Over my head, Mrs. Dodds and the Sergeant continued talking as if I wasn't in the room.

_Go to hell you demon of an algebra teacher_, I thought viciously in her general direction. It was just creepy! Who drives halfway across the state and impersonates a relative just to torcher their ex student? _Go away! Like, away - away!_

Long and short of it, I ended up being dragged outside, again. This time though, it was Mrs. Dodds who had a firm grasp on my collar as we frog-marched into the forest. "Don't you worry sugar!" She called over her shoulder to the Sergeant who was standing on the gravel drive of the Expedition. "Atlanta will give me the tour. She's always behaved for me."

The Sergeant coughed into his fist. "It's not that ma'am," he answered gruffly. "Strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to let the girl out of my sight. I can't in good conscious break protocol-"

"It'll be our little secret!"

Soon we were completely out of sight of the gravel path. Not much longer and we were out of hearing range as well. I had expected her to stop then, to confront me about - well whatever the reason she was here. We just kept marching.

(And yes, I was very freaked out.)

The farther into the dense forest we marched (she marched, I stumbled) the more my Awe-Hell Scale began to rise. It wasn't long before my eyes were darting left and right, desperately searching for an escape route.

Shit! Shit! Shit! I knew I should have run for it when I had the chance!

My mind was a blank slate. I couldn't think of a single plan, devious or otherwise to get me the hell out of dodge. Panic settled in my bones and my breath started to hitch.

As soon as I felt her grip loosen, I bolted.

Every fiber of my being had been screamed at the same time. _RUN! _It was like that day in the museum all over again. My legs sped away from the old woman, carrying me deeper and deeper into the woods. This left the rest of my body to desperately try and keep up.

The first sign that I was officially _way_ out of my league came tearing at me with a high pitched whistle. What little instinct that was still intact hurled me to the side, out of the way of the incoming projectile, but no where near far enough to escape unscathed.

Scratched and covered in debris, my body pulled itself upward and kept running.

Notice how I keep referring to my body doing the action instead of me. That's because I honestly had nothing to do with it. Someone, some_thing _had taken a hold of me like I was a character in a video game. My arms, and especially my legs, worked alone, leaving my mind to make snide comments about the scenery as we blurred by.

Muscles cramped and strained under the pressure, but whatever the hell was in charge did not give way. I was pushed further and further, well beyond my breaking point.

This was nothing like New York City, where I was in constant danger of running into solid buildings or people, perhaps even a hotdog stand or two. There, it appeared this power had been considerably diminished. Here, nothing held it back and it propelled me through the dense forest at what had to be impossible speeds.

Trees exploded into pieces behind me, in front of me and beside me.

Something was screaming - it was probably me.

I was lost as hell and still not in control of my body as it twisted and turned, barely keeping us out of the line of fire. (think bad action movie and you'll get the picture) It wasn't until something hit me square between the shoulders that the power released me.

Too little too late, I was already rolling head first down a steep hill.

Let's just say my landing was less than graceful and leave it at that.

"Where is it!?" An eerie voice echoed among the trees. "Where did you hide it? Give it to me!" With every syllable, the sound grew closer.

But still, I layed where I had fallen, trying to catch my breath and way too out of it to comprehend the danger.

Everything from that moment on is only a blur in my mind

I remember the wind howling like a pack of wolves, kicking up dirt and leaves around me, stealing what little breath left in my lungs.

I remember sharp talons digging into my shoulders, tearing my flesh apart as I was hoisted high into the air.

I remember voices, many of them all shouting and blending together.

I remember falling head first into the ground.

Then, the strange power screamed in my mind for one final time and my body flipped itself over just as I crash landed entirely on my right leg. With a sickening crunch, it crumbled beneath me and a scream tore through the air. I'm pretty sure It was mine.

The power was gone again, and the voices were getting louder when I was once again hoisted into the air by my shoulders. This time though, I could see the demon that had my in its grasp.

Yellow eyes glowed like embers in a fire. It had _wings_, giant wings twice the span of my body that stirred the air and shook the ground when it flapped to keep us aloft. And that face was something out of the Grimm Brothers horrors stories, grey skin stretched tight over an animal's skull, yellow fangs jutting out of a lopsided mouth.

"Get ready to die half-blood," it had screeched.

Then there was an arrow and I was falling.

After that, everything just goes black.

"_You fainted," _a deep rumble echoed._ "Pathetic."_

Not going to lie, I jumped about a foot and a half in the air as I looked around wildly for the source.

"_Stop that!"_ the voice commanded. _"You are drawing unneeded attention."_

I spluttered, half in indignation, half in terror. "What - who - ?"

Something growled deep in my soul. _"Be Quiet!"_

My mouth shut with an audible click as strong hands pushed me back into the bed. I almost took a swipe at whoever it was, figuring it was the source of the voice, before a familiar face caught my eye.

The person holding me was Mr. Brunner, my old latin teacher. Only, it _wasn't_ Mr. Brunner. That is, unless he transplanted himself onto a horse's backside to make up for being wheelchair bound.

"Atlanta?" His deep baritone was thick with worry. "Atlanta, child, please calm down. You are among friends now. No one here will hurt you."

"You - You're - horse!" I spluttered again.

Mr. Brunner blinked and looked down at himself. "Oh, I apologize." Then he looked up at me with a bashful smile. "I normally stay in the wheelchair for first-time guests. It makes the transition smoother you see."

"_Stupid old horse," _the first voice sneered. Before I even had the chance to look for the speaker, it stopped me. _"Be still hero. You will bring nothing but suspicion and dishonor on yourself if you keep acting like a frightened child." _

Frowning deeply I sneered right back, "And how exactly am I supposed to react?"

One voice answered me, "Just take it easy child." While the other snapped off "_Not like an idiot."_

I was so confused that I didn't even notice the blond forcing some concoction down my throat. Before I knew it, sweet darkness had claimed me once more.

When I woke again, I remembered anything. Just before my complete mental meltdown a voice rumbled in my head. _"Be still child." _I froze out of instinct, my eyes still squeezed shut.

There was the impression of an aggravated sigh before it spoke again. _"We're going to have to work on that. Relax."_

"I'm lying in a hospital, god only knows where after I lost a fight to my demon from hell of an algebra teacher. My latin teacher has a horses ass and there is a voice inside my head telling me to relax. Fat chance!" I ranted, snapping my eyes open to glare at the ceiling.

"_Does the word melodramatic mean anything to you?"_

With a snarl of anger, I lept out of bed, having forgotten the ruined state my poor body was in. It took all of a millisecond for me to remember. "Shit!" I landed across the floor in an undignified heap.

"_You've torn just about every muscle in your body - although most of them would have healed by now." _A groan was all I could muster up in response. _"The leg is broken as well."_

Whose fault is _that?_ I wondered sarcastically.

"_Mine I suppose. Here, let me." _And just like that my body was moving of its own accord. Pain laced down my legs as I was maneuvered back onto the bed. I almost blacked out again, but there was something important that I needed answers to.

"What are you?" I whispered aloud, knowing I had just discovered the source of the strange power I seemed to posses. Or maybe curse was a better word - since I seemed to have no control over it whatsoever.

The voice inside my head did not answer for a long time. _"I am a gift."_ It rumbled, just as my vision began to fade. _"A sign of good faith, you could say."_

I gulped, forcing myself to stay awake. "Why are you here?"

"_To make sure you don't get yourself killed. And to prepare you for the trials to come." _Amusement was plain in its voice as whatever it was moved my body so that I was once again lying down.

"What is your name?"

Just before everything went dark again, I heard it whisper to be from the depths of my soul. _"My name was forgotten long ago - lost in the passing of time. You, however may call me Eidolon, for that is what they say I am."_

* * *

**_Gasp!_ Eidolon's already - and this one is here to stay. **

**Tune in next time to see River's reaction to Camp Half-Blood and the gods.**


	5. The dreaded Authors Note

Hello everyone, I'm sorry to do this to ya'll.

Bad News: This version of Daughter of the Sea has been discontinued.

Good News: I am re-writing it as Child of the Sea. Please check out the story and tell me what you think.

I've only got two chapters up so far, well one really considering one is a prologue, but it's already working to fill the plot holes that may or may not be apparent in Daughter of the Sea.

Reason's I am doing this:

1) I didn't realize what a cliche it was until I unfortunately stumbled across the Forum, Miss Percy.

2) I didn't have a clue that "wild daughter of the Sea" was such a big thing - my bad. So I am going to circumvent this in one simple way:

I have no freakin' clue which Side Meander (this stories River) will choose - although I do know the hinge point where everything will be decided..

3) I have a problem with the idea of all powerful characters (the gods, the main character, ect.) Everyone needs a weakness or a stumbling block, in my opinion. So I have created a Universe that literally ties the gods hands when it comes to Meander - which will be explained as the story goes on. Thus she's not just the wild child - she's the child that isn't supposed to exist.

That should just about cover it.

If you have confers, please let me know and I will address them post haste.

Just to let you all know, Child of the Sea will cover Lightning Thief to Titans Curse. This is the point in which she will make her final choice. From there it will turn into one of three possible side routes which will continue until the end of the story.

Thank you everyone! And please forgive me!


End file.
